


Languid

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Kaitou Joker
Genre: Blow Jobs, Disguise, Established Relationship, Fever, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s when they end up in a closet for the third time instead of the bedroom that Spade loses his patience." Spade gets overheated but Joker is there to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Languid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiny_Pichu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_Pichu/gifts).



It’s when they end up in a closet for the third time instead of the bedroom that Spade loses his patience.

“ _Joker_.” He pulls away, enough for Joker to see the blue-painted scar across his left eye like looking into an inverted mirror. “Don’t you remember where the bedroom is?”

“You change the layout every time I’m here!” Joker retorts without letting go of Spade’s hips. They’re close enough that the unfamiliar weight of the long coat around Joker’s shoulders is brushing at Spade’s knees, purple hair catching at the shoulders of Spade’s cloak. Joker’s leaning in for another kiss in spite of the pout at Spade’s lips, and when he shuts his eyes the uncanny mirror-image effect of the other’s disguise disappears, there’s just the soft of his lips and the familiar heat of his mouth.

“Mgh,” Spade says, and Joker pulls back to let him speak, pushes his collar aside so he can put his mouth to use licking against the other’s neck while he refrains from kissing. “We don’t move  _that_  much, you should be able to find your way by now.”

Joker huffs against the other’s skin, pulls back by half a step. “Do you want to fight or do you want to go to the bedroom?”

Spade rolls his eyes, but when he leans in it’s to bump his lips against Joker’s cheekbone, a tiny unthought kiss before he entangles their fingers and pulls them out of the closet and back down the hallway. Joker skips forward to catch up with him, falls into step with the other’s pace; when he drags a gloved fingertip up under the wrist of the other’s jacket Spade jerks, nearly pulls away before he glances sideways and huffs a laugh

“We could be there right now if you hadn’t gotten us lost,” he points out as Joker starts to turn left before Spade tugs him right. “And we only have a few minutes left on the gum by now.”

Joker waves a hand dismissively. “It’s fine.” He  _does_  recognize this hallway, now, tries to take the lead so he can grab at the door first. Spade matches him pace-for-pace; they end up fighting over the handle for a moment before they manage to turn the knob and drag it open together. “I’ll only need a few minutes to wear you down anyway.”

Spade makes a protesting noise as they push the door shut just in advance of Joker twisting them around until he can press Spade’s shoulders back against the wall. There’s a perfectly good bed behind them, sheets tucked into straight lines like they’re begging to be rumpled out of alignment, but Spade’s breathing harder just from being pushed, and Joker has a vested interest in bringing him out-of-composure as rapidly as possible. The fingers at his shoulders are starting to tremble before Joker has even leaned back in to resume their kiss, Spade is turning his head up in expectation of contact while Joker is still starting to grin at this assured victory.

“You’re falling to pieces,” he says against Spade’s mouth. “I told you, I’ve always had better stamina than you.”

“You do  _not_ ,” Spade protests, but he’s opening his mouth for more, losing some of his words as Joker works his way across his lips and down the line of his throat. “I mi--mm--handicap but that--” A pause, a tiny choked gasp. “--going to  _win_.”

“You’re finished, Spade.” Joker pulls back, just to be sure, but he knows his own face, and he’s sure he’s never looked as glazed-over as Spade looks right now under the borrowed features. His lips are parted, his shoulders slumped against the wall like the rush of feverish heat to his body has taken his strength with it, and his cheeks are high and flushed-red under the shadowed unfocus in his eyes. “I’ve won already.”

He drops to his knees, trailing his fingers down against Spade’s hips to hold him steady against the wall. The other’s legs are shaking, trembling and unsteady well before Joker unbuttons the red coat and starts to work the matching pants open. He has to time this just right, but he’s good at timing, and he can feel the gum starting to drag thin and sticky against his own body, which means Spade should be just about done too. The pants fall open, Spade arches up off the door so Joker can slide his clothes half-off, and there’s the telltale sound of snapping elastic just as Joker leans back and closes his eyes for the burst of the disguise giving way. When he blinks his vision back and looks up it’s Spade slumped against the wall, with his usual white coat and longer hair again, though the flush under his skin has lingered even as the gum’s cover faded.

“That’s so weird,” he says dreamily, reaches out to touch the fall of dark hair from Joker’s as-yet intact disguise. “Have you ever thought about just one of us switching?”

“Nah,” Joker says. His scalp is tingling, pressure along his spine squeezing in tighter. Spade keeps his fingers pressed against his hair as Joker’s vision goes blurry again, like oil sliding over glasses, before there’s another  _pop_  as his own layer of Image Gum gives way. “It’s more fun with us both.”

“Mm.” Spade is smiling when Joker looks up, stroking against his hair with more intention, now that his has the usual white strands under his fingers again. His thumb brushes against Joker’s forehead, traces the line of his scar, and Joker shuts his eyes and turns his face up for his while he steadies his hold on the other’s hips in expectation. “You have pretty eyes.”

Joker grins, bright and sparkling against his lips. “So do you.” It’s true; with his head tipped down to watch the other Spade’s eyes look nearly as dark as the lining of his coat, flickering darker with anticipation as Joker leans in. He doesn’t look away from the other’s face; it’s far more interesting to gauge his position from the shape of the gasp on Spade’s lips and the flicker in his eyes, and just as accurate, so by the time Joker reaches out with the tip of his tongue he’s certain of his angle even before he tastes the edge of hot skin.

Spade’s eyelashes flutter, the color across his eyelids drawing over that darkened purple, and Joker knows he’s going to tip backwards against the wall, is bringing his chin down so he can draw Spade’s length in over his tongue without waiting for the other’s attention to come back. It won’t, at least not in any coherent form; Joker knows, at this point, how Spade gets, with the bonus knowledge of how to best deal with his tendency to go shaky and feverish when he gets overexcited.

Right now, the thing to do is push Spade back against the door, let the wall support the majority of his weight while Joker shuts his eyes to focus his attention on the slow slide of his mouth over the other’s length. Spade’s hot on his tongue, the faint salt of sweat clinging to him alongside the heavy sweetness that always characterizes the taste of his skin on Joker’s lips. Joker doesn’t realize he’s purring, doesn’t actually mean to, but when he does Spade moans back in his throat, his fingers slide through the other’s hair, and if it’s an accident at least it’s a happy one. Joker glances up, gauges the slide of Spade’s balance against the wall, and figures he has another few minutes before the other has to actually lie down or collapse.

His calculations are slightly off. He’s just shutting his eyes again, closing his lips around the other’s length and sliding him in farther across his tongue, when Spade makes a funny little breathless choke, and Joker knows that sound. He lets go immediately, sliding back so he can start to get to his feet, push up on a knee and grab at Spade’s shoulder as he slides down the wall. The other’s eyes really are out-of-focus, now, hazed over until Joker’s not sure he’s seeing him at all, and his legs are shaking until it’s only the wall and Joker’s hold keeping him from collapsing boneless to the ground.

“Sorry,” Spade manages, his hand sliding down to loop heavy against Joker’s shoulders. He sounds dreamy, like his throat is melting into warmth along with the stability of his bones, and in spite of the apology he’s smiling, trembling and flushed like he’s glowing with sunlight.

“It’s okay,” Joker reassures, sliding his arm in under Spade’s so he can pull them both upright, supporting the weight of the other as they stumble across the floor. He’s glad the bed is so close behind them. “I told you I was going to win.”

Spade is smiling, turning his head in to rest the heat of his forehead against Joker’s. “Mm.” He purses his lips, ducks his head to kiss against the other’s neck. “I think ‘m the one who won.”

Joker has to laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” He slides Spade onto the sheets, eases him down until he’s lying diagonally across the bed. “Cool off for a minute, kay?”

“Mmkay,” Spade hums, moving dream-slow to tug at the buttons of his jacket. Joker follows his example with more alacrity, letting his cloak fall in smooth folds to the floor before he slips the buttons of his coat free. It’s not a competition, at least not anymore than anything they do is a competition, which is to say Joker is pleased to be coming back to the bed in just an undershirt and boxers while Spade is still struggling to tug his arm free of the heavy weight of his coat.

“Need some help?” Joker teases as he climbs onto the bed, swings in to straddle Spade’s hips. The other pushes himself up from the bed, sitting up to bump his head against Joker’s shoulder while he reaches to press his fingers up under the thin fabric of the undershirt.

“No,” he declares, in clear disavowal of reality. He’s only half-free of his jacket; it’s looped in around his forearm, pinning his movement so he can quite properly grab at Joker’s waist, but when the other tries to push at the fabric Spade tightens his hold so it can’t be pushed off his arm.

“Fine,” Joker relents. “You can handle your own clothes.”

“That’s right,” Spade declares. “I can.”

“I’ll just amuse myself,” Joker goes on, sliding backwards so he’s leaning back over Spade’s knees instead of his hips. “While you’re working on that.”

“What?” Spade asks blankly.

Joker flashes a grin in response to the other’s uncomprehending stare; then he tips his weight forward, reaches out to brace himself on either side of Spade’s hips before he ducks his head low to resume his earlier motion. Spade makes a brief sound of shock, a gasp that cuts off into a groan as Joker’s mouth slides over him, and there’s a shudder through the mattress as he loses his balance and falls backward. It makes Joker laugh; he doesn’t pull away, closes his mouth around Spade so the sound shivers in against the heat in the other’s veins. Spade trembles against the mattress, arches up off the sheets and against Joker’s mouth, and his fingers are back, digging in against the strands of the other’s hair. Joker dips his head down further, urged by the friction on his tongue as much as the gentle pressure of Spade’s hand against his head, and when he hesitates he can feel the pace of his breathing shaking in through Spade’s body as if they’re falling into a single shared existence, far more so than the simple swapped appearance offered by the gum.

This still isn’t close enough, though. Joker can feel Spade’s hand shaking and he can hear Spade’s breathing catching harder and faster, but while he’s nearly stripped Spade is still wearing most of his clothes, and if he keeps going that’s not going to change. He pulls away all at once, sucking quick as he goes so Spade groans and has to take a moment to recover from the heat clouding his attention.

“Enough,” Joker declares, reaching out for the front of Spade’s undone coat. “I’m going to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Spade insists, though he’s now sprawled flat on the bed and so glazed he’s barely tracking Joker’s movements. “I can do it myself.”

“If I wait for you to do it yourself it’ll be tomorrow morning before we get any farther,” Joker points out as he slides the weight of a sleeve off Spade’s wrist. “You’re okay with this, right?”

“You ask every time,” Spade points out, rolling half onto his side so his jacket comes loose. The fall of fabric at his collar is soft under Joker’s fingers as he slips it loose of its knot, Spade tipping his head up while he fumbles with the fastenings of his vest.

“I’m just checking.” Joker unwinds the fabric, takes over Spade’s vest while the other pushes himself up onto his elbows to ease the process. “I don’t want to accidentally take advantage of you.”

“You’re not,” Spade says, ducking his head in to press his forehead to Joker’s shoulder and fit his mouth against the soft of the undershirt. His breath is warmer even than his skin, cutting through the thin fabric to brush over Joker’s skin like the promise of a kiss. “I want you to.”

“You want me to take advantage of you?” Joker teases. Spade’s vest and shirt slide off his shoulders with only a little tugging to get them off the other’s arms; without the barrier of the cloth he’s burning hot to the touch, scorching the barely-there brush of Joker’s fingers, but he’s arching into the contact and Joker can’t resist the temptation to press his hand flat against Spade’s shoulder to push him back to the bed. His wrists are still tangled in the sleeves of his clothes but he’s half-unwrapped and that’s good enough; it gives Joker a trembling canvas of skin to work with, pulls him in close so he can kiss the radiant flush of Spade’s collarbone while he trails his fingers down the other’s waist.

He’s gentle across the pattern of the other’s ribcage, wins himself a jerk of response and a choked protest of “ _Joker_ ” as Spade shivers with ticklish response, but Joker just laughs and pushes down farther to catch at the loosened edge of the other’s pants. Then he really does have to pull away, rock back on his knees and slide backwards over the sheets so he can strip Spade’s clothes off his legs. They’re rumpled already, catching at the sticky heat rising on Spade’s skin, but Joker’s used to this too, knows how to tug and twist to pull them free.

It’s not perfectly elegant. Joker misjudges his position, loses his balance as he backs over the edge of the bed so it’s only quick reflexes that save him from falling entirely to the floor. Even then it’s not a particularly graceful recovery, between the thud of his foot kicking off the floor and the shout of startled reaction that pulls in his throat. Spade’s laugh is slurred warm but no less sincere for that; by the time Joker recovers his balance to toss the other’s clothes to the corner Spade’s half-sitting up again, his hair tangled into a halo around his face and his eyes soft and dreamy under the shadow of purple across his lids.

“You’re so cute,” Joker declares, returning to the bed so he can reach out and cup Spade’s face in his palms. Spade is smiling without any snap to his expression at all; there’s no space for anything in his expression but warm and pleasure and expectant delight.

“Shut up,” Spade manages, but he’s shutting his eyes, parting his lips on a tiny inhale as Joker leans in to kiss him for the quick burst of heat through his veins that follows.

“It’s true,” Joker pulls back long enough to say before he leans in to topple them both back to the sheets. Spade’s length presses in against his stomach, hotter even than all the rest of his skin and faintly sticky from the damp of Joker’s lips so the pressure catches the other’s shirt and drags it up off his skin by an inch. Joker presses another kiss to Spade’s parted lips, catches the shape of a smile off the other’s mouth before he slides a hand down between them to settle his fingers into a grip on Spade’s length. He’s close enough that he can taste the burn on the breath Spade lets out as a gasp, can feel the shudder of reaction that runs through the other’s shoulders under him. He’s melting as if it’s Joker’s touch that is superheated, breathing hard and desperate and Joker has barely really started moving his hand yet.

“You’re getting all dazed,” Joker says to the corner of Spade’s mouth. “I don’t think you could sit up now if you tried.”

“‘S a good thing I’m lying down,” Spade agrees, and Joker laughs bright agreement before he draws back once more.

“Do you still have the lube in the same place?” he asks as he lets Spade go, disregarding the whine of protest in the other’s throat as he scrambles for the bedside table and pulls the drawer open. “Or do you move that around too?”

“Same place.” Spade tips his head up, tangling his hair even worse with the motion, but he doesn’t try to sit up, just reaches out with one arm to grab at the corner of Joker’s undershirt. “You should take this off.”

“I will,” Joker promises, pushing through the drawer until he finds the familiar form of the promised bottle. “Here.” He returns faster than he left, bumping his knee against Spade’s hip in his haste before he drags the shirt up over his head, quickly enough that Spade is still dragging at the fabric when Joker gets it off. The fabric falls over the other’s face, draws a startled laugh from him, and Joker pushes his boxers off while Spade is pushing the shirt over the edge of the bed.

“You’re mean,” he protests weakly, but his gaze is dropping to the skin newly bared by the loss of Joker’s clothing, he’s reaching out to drag radiant fingers against hot-hard skin. Joker dips his head under the contact, huffs a laugh that is more than half a moan in his throat, and stays where he is while Spade’s fingers brush ticklish against him and he opens the bottle to slick his fingers slippery with lube. The touch against his skin is breathtaking, the worse for how delicate it is; he’s almost not sure Spade is touching him, or if it’s just the glow off the other’s fever-hot skin that he’s feeling like a breath of a touch.

“I’m not,” he insists. Spade doesn’t move his legs on his own, but the heavy relaxation in him makes it easy to slide his knees out far enough for Joker to fit himself between them. Spade keeps reaching for the other’s skin, brushing against Joker’s leg, the edge of his hip, the tension across his stomach, and he’s starting to hum, a tuneless sound of satisfaction as Joker’s fingers slide down against his thigh to slick against his entrance.

“Are you okay?” he asks, not because he’s truly worried but just because he always asks, he has to, when Spade gets like this. And Spade does what he always does, which is laugh soft in the back of his throat and drag his fingers over Joker’s hip and rock up off the bed for a moment to push in against Joker’s fingers. Joker smiles, has to huff another tiny laugh; he’s still smiling when he pushes his fingers in to slide the pressure of his fingers into the impossible heat of Spade’s body. The languid burn under Spade’s skin makes this easy, pushes the other towards relaxation without conscious effort on his part so he doesn’t even tense at the pressure; he just tips his head back, shuts his eyes and sighs in what sounds like pure satisfaction. Joker grins even though Spade can’t see it, his body flickering hot and sparkling with all the energy Spade can’t muster, and he reaches out to set his thumb against the curve of the other’s hip, to brace him down against the bed while he starts to thrust slow and steady with his fingers. It’s easy to gauge his angle, to shift the depth and pace of his movements just by watching Spade’s face; there’s telltale flickers of reaction at his eyes, at the corners of his mouth, but mostly it’s the color, the pink darkening to red in his cheeks as his mouth comes open, as his breathing comes faster and more strained to match the drag of Joker’s fingers.

“Spade,” Joker finally says after a few minutes of listening to the roughness creeping into the other’s breathing. “I’m gonna try now, okay?”

“Hhnn,” Spade whines, opens his eyes to stare approximately in the other’s direction. His eyes are dark violet, now, purple as orchids and shadowed out-of-focus. Joker draws his fingers free, matches his other hand aat Spade’s hip before he leans in to catch the shape of Spade’s smile against his lips. It’s unconsciously soft, gentle at his lips, and the fingers that had been trailing against Joker’s stomach come up to push against his hair instead. Spade tastes like agreement, and his fingers feel like agreement, and he’s shifting his legs farther apart, angling one up so he can hook it around Joker’s hip and let the weight pull the other down and closer. Joker gives in to the unspoken urging, lets his hips drop down to fit his body in against Spade’s, and as the heat rushes over and into him he angles himself forward and slowly thrusts into the other. When he takes a breath everything starts to glow, his vision lighting up white as his skin prickles with the heat and the friction catching on each other, and Spade’s arm is angling sideways, now, dropping around Joker’s shoulders to pull him in closer so the other can press his mouth in against the line of the other’s shoulder. The heat of his breath tickles sensation over Joker’s skin, tightens his throat into what would be a laugh if it weren’t so close to a moan.

This must be close to what Spade feels when he gets overheated, this sense of drowning in heat until there is nothing but the radiance, like being absorbed by the sun and turned into a single burst of light. When Joker moves Spade presses in against his stomach, reminds him of reciprocation, and when he gets his hand between them to curl his fingers around the other’s length Spade shudders and half-laughs into his skin. All Joker’s senses are flushing into the same input, the resistance under his fingers and the tightness of Spade around him when he moves his hips and the silk-soft of the skin against his open mouth when he gasps for air. He feels like he’s melting, all Spade’s heat is becoming his or maybe he is just becoming Spade, the boundaries between them blurring away more effectively than Image Gum could ever manage. All their movements are falling into sync, the drag of his fingers matching a counterpoint to the thrust of his hips and the involuntary clench of Spade’s fingers at his shoulder, and when Spade jerks and tenses under him it just feels like a prelude, a lead-in to the wave cresting along his spine. Spade’s eyelashes flutter, his throat works on an unvoiced moan; Joker keeps moving, stares at the line of Spade’s lashes and the curve of his parted lips as he shudders and comes between their bodies. He’s trembling with pleasure or fever or both, quivering like he’s vibrating with some unheard sound, and Joker finally shuts his eyes, tucks his forehead against the loose fabric of Spade’s undone shirt and whimpers a gasp into the heat of Spade’s skin as sensation takes over his body and pulls him down into the rippling relief of satisfaction.

Joker collects himself after a few minutes of recovery. Spade doesn’t. By the time Joker is easing away, rocking back on his heels so he can brush Spade’s hair back from his face, the other seems to be well on his way to delirious sleep, still flushed and sweat-damp but smiling faintly even as he drifts towards something very close to unconsciousness.

“I love you,” Joker says matter-of-factly, clear into the space between them even though he doesn’t think Spade’s listening. But then the other’s smile goes a little wider, his eyelashes flutter into a smile for a moment, and his fingers close on Joker’s wrist to drag his arm in close to his mouth. The shape of the kiss he presses to Joker’s skin is vague, melted so soft as to be almost unrecognizable, but Joker doesn’t have to understand the drag of Spade’s lips on his wrist to know what the other is saying.

He laughs, and leans in to kiss Spade’s forehead. Spade makes a tiny noise, a purr of appreciation and pleasure, and then his hold on Joker’s wrist goes slack as he gives in to the draw of relaxation. Joker slides his arm free, eases off the bed carefully to avoid disturbing Spade before he goes looking for a shower before he comes back to press against the warmth of Spade’s skin.

He never sleeps as well as he does when they’re together.


End file.
